


Absolve Me Of My Sins

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Catholic Bucky Barnes, Catholic Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Sex Worker Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 21:18:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6824728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	Absolve Me Of My Sins

_ Hail Mary full of grace, the Lord is with thee…. _

He wasn’t sure how he got to this point—face battered and broken in a putrid puddle of filth, body aching in places he’d rather not focus on, dignity stripped away from him and replaced with damp dollar bills. Somewhere along the way this scenario had become normal, as easy for him as slinging freight out on the docks for a few extra bucks. A job was a job no matter the cost, and Bucky would take what he could get.

It wasn’t always this bad. Sometimes he’d walk away with sore knees and a sour taste in his mouth for ten dollars, and that he could deal with. It wasn’t anything a cold beer and a bit of toothpaste couldn’t fix, and the look on Steve’s face when he came home with enough to pay for electricity that month made all of this worth it. But it was night’s like this that made it hard to come home. It made it hard for him to lift his head and meet Steve’s eyes, those blue eyes so full of absolution.

He couldn’t stay there all night though. Every minute that passed him by was another minute Steve spent worrying about him. He’d been doing this for so long now that he almost forgot what their friendship was like before all the lies, before the sleepless nights, before Bucky started letting strangers take what they wanted for money.

Somehow he found the willpower to push himself onto his knees, arms shaking with the strain. The thought of letting go and succumbing to his exhaustion was tempting. He’d probably freeze to death with his pants around his ankles, and wouldn’t that be a sight to see? The papers would have a field day with that. He could just picture the headlines now: “Queer Prostitute Found Dead. One Less Menace To Walk Streets Of Brooklyn.” But that would put Steve in danger. They’d suspect him of being a homosexual too, and God knew Steve would never survive prison. The thought gave Bucky enough strength to push himself to his feet and pull up his pants. He tried to ignore the bile climbing up his throat as he bent down to pick up the soiled money around him.

‘Focus, Bucky. Gotta get him some medicine. Gotta get home. Ignore the pain. He’s sick. Gotta take care of him. Fight through it. He’s worth it.’

 

 

* * *

 

 

_ Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus… _

He had quit going to church months ago. Steve tried to beg him to start going back, said every Sunday morning at Mass his momma hoped to see him and his sister asked how he was doing. The last time he had gone had been bad enough that he vowed never to step foot into that place again. It was right after he started doing all of this. Steve had just gotten over the flu, again, and all their savings had been drained. The night before church had been the first time a man ever grabbed hold of his head and fucked his mouth, made him gag and retch behind the store Steve would buy his charcoal pencils from. He felt the eyes of the parishioners burning his back as he stood to take communion and choked on wafers that tasted like ashes and wine sour like vinegar, a sign that he could no longer take Christ into his body when another had done so and defiled him. In the confessional booth, he had opened up to Father Anderson, hoping to find answers. “So, how many Hail Mary’s, Father? What repentance am I gonna receive today?” His words were bitter, not out of hate, but out of fear. “Son, there is no salvation waiting for you.” He’d never forget the disgust that clouded the priest’s voice that day, and he knew he’d never be welcomed on sacred ground again.

Bucky left the pharmacy, bottle of medicine in his pocket heavy, but not as heavy as the rosary around his neck.

He didn’t pay attention to the rest of the walk home, just let his feet carry him until he found himself standing in front of their apartment. The sound of the hinges crying out as he forced the door open made him wince. He’d been meaning to fix that, just like he had been meaning to fix the leak in the tub, patch the hole in the roof, change the lightbulb in the bedroom, fix the broken life they had made for themselves. He let the door swing shut, knowing any chance of sneaking past a sleeping Steve had disappeared as soon as he stepped through the threshold.

“Buck?” a sleep-heavy voice called out from the living room couch followed by a round of sickly coughs. The sound of clothes rustling as Steve reached out to turn on the light made Bucky finally speak out from the doorway.

“Yeah, s’me, Stevie.” He hated how rough his voice was, how it broke on the tail end of his name.

“Just go back to sleep, s’okay. Don’t turn on the light.”  _ ‘Please don’t turn on the light. Please don’t see me like this. Please, Lord, just let me have this one thing.’ _

“What time is it?” Steve sounded confused, and Bucky could picture the downward turn of his mouth. Steve had no doubt fallen asleep waiting up for him, like he did most nights now.

“Late?” he offered in response and was met with a derisive snort. “S’a quarter past 2. Don’t worry about it. Just got held up at the docks and then the boys wanted to get a drink, and I… I lost track of time.”

The light suddenly cut on, and Bucky squinted against the harsh truth that he wasn’t going to get out of this one, the Lord wasn’t with him anymore.

“Buck, that’s four nights this week you’ve ‘lost track of time.’ What’s gotten into y--?” Steve snapped his mouth shut when he got a glimpse of him. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Told you not to worry about it.” Bucky limps past the couch, away from Steve, heading for the solace of the bathroom so he can get cleaned up. Wipe away the blood, wash the taste from his mouth, make sure there were no other open wounds save one.

Steve scrambled off the couch, blanket that had been draped over his shoulders falling to the ground. He all but tripped over the fabric as he tries to catch up to Bucky. “Yeah, and I thought we were done lying to each other.”

That hurt. To lie to a boy like Steve was like signing away his soul to the devil himself. He knew Steve was standing behind him, glaring at him with indignant eyes, but he couldn’t turn around to meet him. He dug through his pockets and pulled out a small brown bottle.

“Picked up some cough syrup for you on the way home. Pharmacist said to take two tablespoons and sleep it off.”

“Yeah, and how’d you pay for that?” Steve grabbed his arm, pulled sharply to turn him around, and the movement made Bucky grimace in pain. “What did you do? What happened to you?”

Bucky’s eyes hardened, and he pulled away from Steve’s grasp. He couldn’t bear his touch anymore. “Look, just take your medicine and go to sleep. Let me clean up, and we can forget all of this tomorrow morning.”

“That’s gonna be awful hard when it looks like you can barely walk, Buck.” Steve reached up as if to touch Bucky’s swollen eye but was stopped by Bucky’s hand pushing it away.

“Don’t. Don’t touch me.” He tried to sound forceful, tried to sound intimidating and strong for his own sake, but it came out small and scared, like a frightened child after a nightmare.

“Just tell me what happened, Bucky,” Steve pleaded. “Who hurt you? What did they do to you?”

Bucky’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Steve wouldn’t let up. If there was one thing Bucky knew about him, it was that he was the most stubborn son of a bitch he had ever met. “Nothing I didn’t deserve, okay? I did what I had to do, and things got out of control.” He felt like a cornered animal with Steve standing so close. How could he not see it, not smell it on him? How could Steve not see that everything had been stripped and taken from him?

“I don’t understand.” Steve shook his head, desperation clouding his eyes. “We never used to keep things from each other, and this has been happening for months now. I’m tired of the lies, Buck, you gotta tell me what’s been happening so I can help.”

Bucky let out a mirthless laugh. There was no getting out of this one, nothing he could do to save himself. Like the priest had said, there was no salvation waiting for him at the end of this. “Think about it, Steve,” he spit out. “Where do you think I’ve been getting all of this extra cash? There were never any extra shifts at the docks. I was never out with the boys getting drinks, blowing money, dancing with dames. /Think/ about it, Steve.”

Confusion. Realization. Epiphany. Horror.

Bucky watched as the emotions danced across Steve’s features, and he felt like he was going to be sick. His legs were shaking, no longer able to hold him up after yet another trauma. “There was nothing else I could do. Nowhere else was hiring, Steve, believe me, I looked. And you were sick, and the bills were adding up. I had to do something. It was the only thing I could do.” He didn’t know why he was bothering trying to justify his actions. He was sick, perverted, a damned man forced to choke on the apple he had bitten.

“What happened tonight?” Steve’s voice was hard, void of any emotion. Bucky knew he hated him.

“Thought it was just another job,” he admitted quietly. “Turns out I was wrong. Don’t remember much. He hit me on the head,” he gestured to the dried blood at the corner of his temple. “Woke up as he was gettin’ off of me. At least he paid.”

“Jesus, Buck.”

Bucky expected Steve to hate him. He expected Steve to tell him to get out, to tell him what a sick bastard he was, maybe even turn him into the authorities. It was the right thing to do.

What he didn’t expect Steve to do was reach out and grab his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

 

* * *

 

 

_ Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of death... _

“Do you trust me?”

It was such a loaded question, but one that Bucky knew the answer to without thinking.

“Always.”

Steve’s small, deft fingers traced the collar of Bucky’s shirt before quickly, efficiently unbuttoning it. Bucky tried to ignore Steve’s quick intake of breath as the shirt fell from his shoulders to reveal a string of bruises, some faded blues and yellows and others angry blacks and purples running from his rib cage up to his throat.

“You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Bucky couldn’t look Steve in the eye and instead focused his attention on the hot water pouring from the faucet and filling up the tub. It was nearly full, and he knew, vaguely, that he’d have to finish getting undressed.

“I’ll close my eyes, and you can tell me when you’re done.” It was as if Steve had read his mind, but he was thankful anyway. They had been completely bare in front of each other before, but circumstances were different now.

He kicked off his soiled pants, ignoring the brick red stains. The water was scalding, a burning fire on his skin, and he prayed that like hellfire it would cleanse him.

“You good?” Steve asked, and Bucky hummed in approval.

Steve moved to kneel by the tub, muffling a cough into the crook of his arm. “Didn’t have to do this for me, Buck. We coulda found a way to fix it. Didn’t have to do this to yourself.”

Bucky felt the shame rise to his cheeks. “You don’t have to be here, Steve, I can clean up myself and get outta here if that’s what you want.” He sinks farther into the water as if it could protect him from whatever Steve had to say.

“I know I don’t have to be here, but it’s where I want to be. Why don’t you let me take care of you just this once?” 

Bucky gave a curt nod and thanked God for this one blessing as Steve grabbed a cloth draped over the faucet and dipped it into the water. Dabbing at his face, Steve paid careful attention to long scrapes across his cheekbones from the asphalt. Tendrils of water cascaded down his face, mixing with saltwater unbeknownst to Steve. 

It was easy for him to recall all of the times he had taken care of Steve over the years, particularly after Sarah’s death, but how many times had Steve taken care of Bucky? His kindness, compassion, his instinctual need to be good and do good had kept Bucky from falling apart for years now. Even now, faced with everlasting damnation for his actions, Steve was more concerned with keeping Bucky together than what this could mean for the two of them.

“I’m sorry, Stevie, fuck, I’m so sorry. Never meant for this to happen. Never wanted you to find out like this.” The words came falling out of his mouth and the foul burn of them on his tongue made him choke back a sob. “M’sorry I’m like this. Shouldn’t even be in here helping me when you’re sick. I don’t deserve your help.” 

“Buck, hey, stop. Look at me, look at me, Bucky.”   
  
And Bucky did. He could never deny Steve anything, could never say no, and the sight of Steve, eyes full of anguish

“It’s okay. I forgive you. It’s okay. You did what you had to do, but it’s over now. M’not gonna let you go back to that, not when I can keep you safe right here.” Steve leaned in to wrap his small arms around Bucky’s shaking shoulders. “So you can quit apologizing. There’s nothing wrong with the way that you are. You’re still my Bucky.” The words were validated by a small press of lips to his forehead, absolving him, freeing him from his fear. 

Father Anderson had been wrong. Salvation had been found in the warmth of Steve’s arms, the tender curve of his lips against Bucky’s skin.  Maybe God could not forgive Bucky for his sins, but Steve did and that was all that mattered.

  
_ Amen. _


End file.
